


Dreamcast

by captainfalcon



Category: Original Work
Genre: First of a series, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, PTSD symptoms, Song lyrics from Twenty One Pilots, boring job, i don't really know how else to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4688360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainfalcon/pseuds/captainfalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lauren was just trying to get to work... until someone jumped under the train right in front of her. Now she's stuck with a briefcase full of mysteries and a mind full of horrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome, especially (respectful) critiques. Please enjoy :)

_whoooosshhhhhhh click-click ssssstttttt_  
The familiar sound of the train coming in haunted Lauren, as though trapped in her ears. She turned in her bed, reaching out blindly to turn up the music wafting from the small iPhone dock sitting on her bedside table. Maybe that’ll drown it out, she seemed to think. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t. She tried to ignore the truth, but how could she when it’s handcuffed to her?  
She looked over to the glistening black briefcase attached to her other hand. Coated in bad memories and intrigue and upset - what could inside? What lay beneath that patina? It made her shudder to think about it.  
_tktktktktktk_  
Sleep wasn’t coming easy tonight. As every insomniac the world over knows, the harder you fight to get to sleep, the longer it takes. Lauren sighed -  
_whhhhoossssshhhhhhhh_  
\- and resigned herself to another sleepless night. Her eyes were bloodshot and sore from so many hours spent wide open. She reached out again to change the gentle music to something more upbeat, turns it up. Every movement she made was carefully designed to avoid moving the briefcase. It sickened her. When it moves, something inside stirs - something menacing, dangerous.  
_click click click tssstssstsss_  
She still wore the same shirt she had on two days ago, minding her own business, waiting with thousands of other Adelaide commuters for the 8am train. It would be impossible to remove it now, unless she cut it off, and then how would she replace it? She was at home, lying in wait for that phone to go off, using up her sick days.  
The lyrics invaded the cycle of thoughts in Lauren’s head, replaying the train, the man, the briefcase, the man, the train, the man, the briefcase, the blood...  
_Can you save, can you save, can you save my heavy dirty soul?_  
_My heavy dirty soul. That’s about right,_ she thought. The strained chords and mournful words swam through the haze. Every line… the whole song, it resonated in her synapses like never before. It was already a well played album in her collection, despite only having come out a few months earlier, but it reminded her 21-year-old brain of her 17-year-old brain and it gave her the strength to get through another day of mind-numbing complaints and idiotic requests.  
_I’m really sorry… whooosshhhhh_  
Lauren shivered, despite the balmy night and the blanket covering her legs. She immersed herself in the music, a technique she had become well-versed in after years of teaching herself to play songs. As soon as she closed her eyes, the wavelengths enveloped her like old friends last seen long ago, isolating her aural senses and engulfing them.  
_Wish we could turn back time_  
_To the good old days_  
_When our mamas sang us to sleep_  
_But now we’re stressed out_  
The vocals merged with the rest of the music, flattening then distorting in her mind’s eye. She could hear the chords, not just of the piano but also those formed by every individual note played or sung. The drums emerged, then the tiniest background noises and instruments. Low held notes emerged from the background, usually blended perfectly with the shorter high notes.  
The song ended and Lauren’s trance was broken, though only for a moment. The next song swelled into existence as she took a long drink of cool water from a bottle resting at her bedside.  
_Yeah I think about the end just way too much_  
_But it’s fun to fantasise_  
Lauren had thought she knew exactly what this meant when she first heard the song, but now… Now, she had witnessed a real death -  
_tsssskkkkssssss whoosh_  
And it was nothing like the movies, or like hearing about it on the news, and she decided she was wrong the first time. _But that’s the beauty of these words_ , she thought. _They change their meaning to suit you._  
_I’m falling, so I’m taking my time on my ride_  
_I’m so sorry about this_  
Lauren shuddered at the parallel her mind drew, quickly changed the song. It used to be one of her favourites. Now, everything she loved, everyone she loved, was being pushed aside by these events that she didn’t even understand.  
A phone, not hers, sat accusingly next to the dock. She hadn’t found anything on it, no contacts or texts or past calls or notes, so she left it and assumed someone would ring it. But nothing had happened yet, and the battery was starting to run out. It was an old model, a Nokia flip phone, like the one her mum had when Lauren was a kid. She picked it up, turned it over, looking for something she might have missed, opened it, stared. 2:28 am, it said. Default wallpaper. Maybe she should give it to the police, maybe it was that guy’s… but then she’d have to explain how she got it and they’d ask about the briefcase.  
_I really am. click_  
Unexpectedly, the phone started to ring. Loudly. Momentarily forgetting the briefcase, she answered it with one thumb while lunging to turn off the music with the other hand, got tangled, dropped the phone, then scooped it up again.  
“Just… hang on a second,” she gasped into the mobile, dropping it back on the bed, pausing the album mid-crescendo, then scooping it back up again.  
“Hi, sorry about that. Who is this?”  
She paused to wonder why she was being so free-flowing and polite. After all, presumably this person could tell her why this had all happened and how to wash her hands of it.  
_Oh my god! That guy just-_  
“Hello, Lauren. I am truly sorry for doing all this to you.”  
Lauren gasped in shock. That voice-  
“Yes, it’s me. My name is Benjamin. You thought I was dead, right? I looked pretty dead, I suppose. But I’m not really. You ran fast. Running is good.”  
Lauren felt like her brain was about four pages behind. It was the guy from… the guy with the briefcase. The guy who died. In front of her.  
“Uh, yeah, okay. Do… do you want to explain what’s happening?” she stammered.  
“Yes, of course, my apologies.” His voice was soft, like he was somewhere in public, but there was no background noise. But it wasn’t just soft in volume, it seemed velvety and… kind, somehow. Well cultured, too. Definitely Australian, but with a hint of British, and the even tone that meant he definitely wasn’t from Adelaide.  
“Lauren, we’re calling you in. We assessed you a long time ago, but found no requirement for your services until now. Apologies for the handcuffs, we knew you would be scared and we needed to make sure it stayed with you.”  
“I’m sorry, what?” she cried into the flimsy plastic. “Assessed? Services? Look, I don’t want to be a part of this crazy pyramid scheme or whatever you’ve got going on here. I’m out. If I can’t get out of these handcuffs, I’m going to the police and they can have whatever’s in your creepy little briefcase.”  
Lauren was slightly hysterical at this point, a genetic flaw of her mother’s, she thought. But to an extent it was helpful, because it made people scared, and it generally meant she got her way. Just as she was about to hang up, she heard Benjamin’s annoyingly calm voice - equally soothing and inflammatory.  
“Lauren, please. Let me explain further. Sometimes I forget what a shock this can be.”  
“Alright. But you better talk fast, Oxford.” she sighed begrudgingly. Oxford. She wasn’t sure what made it come to her but it seemed to fit him and his odd voice.  
“Thankyou. I work for an undercover organisation-”  
At this point, Lauren had to stop him with a long, loud laugh.  
“Yeah, sure thing, Oxford. ‘Undercover organisation’? You expect this to convince me?” It was impossible to hide the scorn in her voice, but it didn’t seem to phase Benjamin.  
“Please, Lauren, if you’ll let me finish, I can provide ample evidence to my organisation’s existence and credibility. As I was saying, the organisation monitors people of cultural or temporal importance and protects them. However, sometimes these people need to protect themselves. Lauren, you are one of these people. We cannot protect you - your temporal signature is just too large. We have to equip you to help yourself. The effects of our interventions are sometimes unpredictable, and too much ripple can have catastrophic effects on culture, both yours and others.”  
It took a long moment to sink in. Slowly, the words clarified in her mind, carrying with them a series of ideas and images. Unfamiliar images. She wondered if they were controlling her brain somehow.  
“You spoke of credentials. I can’t just start working for some weird bunch of crazy people who throw themselves under trains and then…”  
_Oh my god! That guy just jumped under the train!_  
_screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-_  
“Yes, certainly. Open the briefcase. The combination is 6-9-0-3.”  
“Okay, well, I’m going to have to put the phone down for a minute.” Lauren said cautiously, gut churning. She heard a murmur of assent through the tinny speaker, placed the phone on her pillow, then turned the dials of the small combination lock on top of the case. It clicked, then with a series of thunks she undid the latches.  
_click click click click_  
She nervously opened the lid. Inside was a small key, a large metal orb, and a bundle of papers. The top sheet was an official-looking letterhead page, printed with her name and address, today’s date, and a series of numbers interspersed with decimals. There was also a name - Benjamin Drinnan - and a single sentence: ‘My mother was a tanner’. Confused, Lauren picked up the phone.  
“Benjamin. What’s your last name?”  
“It’s Drinnan. What did you find?”  
“Hang on. I think these are the credentials. What does your mother do?”  
“Well, these days she mostly gardens, but before she retired, she was a leather tanner.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lauren was enjoying the feeling of warm water running over her. The little key in the briefcase opened the handcuffs, which she quickly removed and then stored inside it. The rest of the paper could wait, she decided, as could the orb - Benjamin assured her that it would be okay to leave for now, as long as she called him back within the hour. She assented, after finding a charger in the briefcase which matched the phone. It was lying innocuously on the floor, charging up - it had been deathly low on battery when she hung up the phone. Not having a shower for three days and being unable to change her shirt had left her feeling like a disgusting frat boy, so she was savouring the 3am shower as much as possible. The lemongrass fragrance of her shampoo permeated the thick, steamy air, adding to the relaxation. Eventually, though, the hot water went cold and thoughts of an angry landlord drove her from her out. Wrapped in a fresh, fluffy towel, she sat on the bed to start sifting through the paper contained in the briefcase.  
Underneath the ‘credentials’, a typewritten page showed the details of her birth certificate, followed by a page about her parents. A series of printed school photographs sat below, then a thick sheaf of school reports and later, TAFE results. Even her resume and current job details were there.  
At this point, she was quite angry - she had been stalked by this creepy organisation from birth - but it was now approaching 4am and she hadn’t slept in days. Lauren picked up a pair of pyjamas and shrugged into them, flopping on the bed and falling in to a deep sleep.  
 _tttssskkkkkkkkkk click tktktktk click click whoooosshhhhhhhh screeeeeeeeeee_  
 _oh my god! that_  
 _click click_  
 _he just_  
 _screeeeeeeeeeeee_  
 _is he dead?_  
 _tktktktktktktktktktk_  
 _oh my god! he just jumped_  
 _whoooooooooooooosshhhhhh_  
 _i’m so sorry_  
Lauren woke in a cold sweat. Her dreams had been haunted by the scene at the station. Even though the mystery was partially resolved, the trauma of the incident stayed with her. It was 7 am, but she wasn’t going to get back to sleep any time soon so she figured she would be early to work.  
Another shower removed the sweat, then a cup of tea and a small orange constituted breakfast. She noticed the shiny orb lying in the open briefcase, discarded in favour of the papers. She still couldn’t decide if she was angry or creeped out or excited. Tea in hand, she picked up the orb and turned it over in one hand. It had one deep groove, about half a centimetre thick, running all the way around the equator, but it was otherwise featureless. It was heavy, too, and cold.  
Putting it out of her mind, Lauren drained her tea and brushed her teeth quickly, heading out of the small flat and towards the train station.  
 _tssskktssktsk_  
The sounds swirled around her head, making her dizzy.  
 _click click click_  
She pulled out her high-quality headphones, cranked her phone up, and played the same album she had been listening to when the phone rang. The sounds soothed her, drowning out the noise of the train, her footsteps syncing to the beat. She entered the station fighting to control her breath, charging through to the line, waiting for the train…  
 _screeeeeeeeee_  
screeeeeeeeee! came the noise of the brakes, and she turned away for a moment, pretending to check her bag for something. Only when she was certain that the train was fully stopped did she turn to board the train. Just another boring receptionist, getting on the boring train to go to her boring job. It was crowded, but not overcrowded, so she didn’t feel uncomfortable as she gripped the handrail. A few stops later, she arrived in the city and set off for work.

After yet another day of dealing with idiotic clients and an exorbitant amount of coffee requests, it felt like a blessing to finally be home. Lauren practically collapsed onto the couch and pulled off her tight black boots. She sat for a while, head swimming with tasks, questions, and noises. Unfortunately, just as she settled, the Nokia rang. Sighing loudly, she levered herself off the couch and went to answer it.  
“Hello? Benjamin?” Lauren queried.  
“No. Name’s Matthew. We need you to come in.” came the deep-voiced, gruff reply.  
“Um… sorry, Matthew was it? Yeah, I already got the briefcase open and the whole ‘protect yourself’ spiel. Looks like you got double booked.”  
“No. I mean we need you to physically come to us. There’s a map in the briefcase. 7 pm tonight at Mitzi’s, a sedan will be there to collect you. Give the driver the map. He’ll understand.”  
Lauren began to object, but the line went dead and the high-pitched beep of the ‘hang-up’ tone pierced her ears. A headache began to press in behind her left eye. Two hours and I’m meeting these wackos. Better come prepared. All she wanted to do at this point was collapse on the couch, but she figured she needed at least some level of protection. She went to the kitchen, made a mince jaffle. As it cooled she changed from her work clothes to jeans, a t-shirt, and a black jumper. Eating the jaffle took only a short while, so with an hour and a half still to go, she tried to make a little progress on the new Halo game she’d just bought.  
 _click click click tssssstttkkkk_  
The noises swelled in her ears so she got up, put some music on through the Xbox, then tried to work off some nervous energy by going through an exercise routine. After that, she gave up trying to stall, packing everything into the briefcase and putting on a pair of heavy combat boots before heading out half an hour earlier than intended, hoping to beat them there and suss the place out a bit.  
Lauren felt rather conspicuous carrying her black briefcase through the city streets wearing jeans, but getting a taxi would have been a waste of money considering Mitzi’s was only a couple blocks from her flat.  
 _screeeeeeeeee_  
The road was slick - it must have rained while she had the music going - and the hiss of tires and squeal of wet brakes became the approaching train in her mind’s eye. She knew now that Benjamin was okay, not dead, so why was she still so frightened?  
Before she could get too deep in the cycle of thought, she noticed a silver Ford gliding along the oily asphalt. Indeed, she was only a few metres from Mitzi’s, and the car had slowed to her pace. It seemed she wasn’t the only one trying to get in early. Her pace quickened. Briefly, she got a glimpse of the driver - a big guy, swarthy, with Benjamin sitting in the back seat.  
Partially satisfied that she wasn’t about to get murdered, she doubled back and removed the map from the briefcase, folded small. The guy in the front got out to open the door, and she handed him the map before getting in. She hoped she looked more confident than she felt. The briefcase weighed heavily on her lap like an anchor. Benjamin didn’t speak - in fact, it was like he didn’t even realise she was there.  
A long silence ensued, Lauren’s fingers awkwardly playing on the hard lid of the briefcase, Benjamin staring blankly out the window, until they reached a warehouse on the outskirts of the industrial district. The driver got out, opened her door, then Benjamin’s. She stepped out, then followed him around the car and into the imposing steel structure. Piles of scrap colorbond littered the entranceway, partially disguising a tribal pattern carved into the internal walls. It looped and curved up the otherwise-smooth surface, like an ambling rivulet, ending abruptly at the tiny gap between the top of the wall and the high roof - as if escaping outside.  
Benjamin led her through a maze of similarly carved halls until they reached a dimly lit glass office overlooking the production floor. It was closed for the day, only a few grimy perspex skylights providing light. He indicated to put the briefcase on the desk in the corner, silently looking out over the benches arrayed through the factory. Lauren put the case down and joined him, waiting for a clue as to what was actually happening. Eventually, he spoke.  
“Lauren, have you been experiencing aural flashbacks?” he asked softly.  
“Yes. Yeah, I keep hearing the noise of the train. You know, it’s not every day someone forcibly gives someone else a briefcase and phone then throws themselves under a train, so my brain’s kinda messed up, I’d say.” Lauren’s voice was hard, unwavering.  
“The process we go through now will clear those up. If you’d seen a psychologist, I expect you’d be diagnosed with PTSD, but in reality it’s the Dreamball. It was activated just before I came to you, and recorded the circumstances of its activation. It continues to play the back to the person closest to it until it links to the mainframe. A minor design flaw, perhaps, but with no lasting effects.” Here, he paused to start up an old computer on the desk. It was slow to start, but when it did, a cradle roughly the shape of the orb started glowing bright orange. “Please, if you give me the Dreamball, we can start the process.”  
Lauren shook her head, then handed it over. “This is what all this crazy stuff is for? What about all that ‘protect yourself’ stuff?”  
The orb, or Dreamball or whatever he’d called it, sat snugly in the cradle. Only a glimpse of the glow snuck out from the groove around the equator of the ball.  
“The Dreamball will help you. When you sleep, it will transmit important information to you, like martial arts skills and key events. When you wake, it will keep watch, and alert you if you need to get out of a situation before it happens.”  
“Wait on, martial arts? While I sleep?” Lauren laughed. “Like the Matrix?”  
Benjamin looked up in confusion. “The what?”  
Lauren shook her head. “Nothing, it’s a movie. People sleep and their consciousness is run through a bunch of computer simulations. They can learn through these creepy needles into their brain.”  
Benjamin stared at her for a moment before resuming his tapping at the keyboard.  
“Okay, the Dreamball will be quite warm now, but it needs your imprint to start the upload. Put your hand on it.”  
Lauren obeyed, then gasped in shock. Quite warm? More like burning hot! she thought, but held it. The sounds of the train deafened her, swelling up around her ears, burying her, smothering her… then in an instant, it was gone, the burning orb too, and she was free.  
“Wow. Okay. That was intense,” she muttered, looking around. Orange lights began to overlay her vision. They showed her paths, trajectories, analysis of the dust on the desk. “Hey, oxford, am I supposed to be seeing weird orange stuff right now?”  
Benjamin looked at her in surprise. “You mean… you can see what the Dreamball sees?”  
“Well… maybe. Does it see a bunch of analytical information and predictions? Because if it does, then yes, I’m seeing through the Dreamball.”  
He gasped in shock, typing frantically. “This is… unheard of. The Dreamball didn’t just imprint, it uploaded. We knew you were culturally significant but… well, to be blunt, we didn’t see how. But it wasn’t your human culture. Lauren, you… we have prophesies about this. You’re the Dreamcast. The soul of the Dreamball. This is amazing.”  
Lauren looked at him in confusion. “Are you kidding me? This… this has to be made up.” But it couldn’t be made up, she knew it. How could you make up what she was seeing with her own eyes?  
Benjamin was yammering away excitedly, pulling out his phone, running about the office, cramming things into the briefcase. “Lauren, you have no idea. This is phenomenal. Come on!”  
Before he even stepped off, sparks lit the path his feet were going to take. Each step dissolved another marking as she trailed along behind him. This time, though, when they went past the intricate carvings, she could read them. They weren’t just patterns, they were stories - clear as Egyptian hieroglyphs to an archaeologist. She gasped in wonder as they flowed around her in a strobe of beauty. She felt a tug and looked back to see Benjamin was pulling her along, out of the cavernous entrance and towards the waiting car.  
“Where are we going now?” asked Lauren, as they sped back towards the city.  
“Look, I’m really sorry about this. But the Dreamball is so vital, and the Dreamcast even more so, and at this point our only option is to keep you with us.”  
Lauren gaped at him, shocked. “What happened to not being able to protect me? And what do you mean, ‘keep you with us’? You’re not seriously going to keep me hostage are you?”  
Benjamin’s previously excited voice turned cold. “You’re a reasonable woman. Don’t think of it as captivity, but as protective custody.”  
At these words, the car pulled into the underground carpark of a CBD skyscraper, a rough bag was thrown over her head, and the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, look out for the next in the series and remember to comment/kudo - it means a lot to know that people actually liked reading it :)


End file.
